


The Snight Before Christmas

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Humor, Poetry, Romance, The Night Before Christmas parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: It's the night before Christmas. Naturally, that means it's time for a Christmas miracle. The dead never leave us, if we only turn on the light. ;)





	The Snight Before Christmas

 

Twas the night before Christmas,

At old Grimmauld place,

Not a Dark thing was stirring,

'Cept for Walburga's face.

 

Why, she snored in her portrait,

Nestled snug in her frame,

Her head full of insults,

From the cruel to the tame.

 

And I with my blanket,

And my friends with their snacks,

Had each gone to our rooms,

To seek rest and relax.

 

Not long after that,

I was rudely awoken,

By the curious sound,

Of whispered words spoken.

 

My friends snored so loudly,

I might not have heard,

But the voice was familiar

Its existence absurd.

 

I sat up in bed,

My eyes wide with fright,

And took hold of my wand,

And sprang into the night.

 

With stocking feet padding,

As light as can be,

I ran down the stairs,

Not sure what I'd see.

 

I had entered the study,

Not sure what to do,

When, in a flash of green flame,

He arrived through the floo.

 

I ducked down, quite shaken,

My hair stood on end,

For the man at the mantle,

Had met a bad end.

 

And yet, there he stood,

With black boots and black cloak,

The steam of his breath,

Wreathed his head just like smoke.

 

His nose was a hook,

And his eyes dark as coal,

And his hair hung in sheets,

Down his cheeks like a cowl.

 

He was built like a scarecrow,

His face pale as snow,

That flurried outside,

In the street down below.

 

With a bag on his back,

That was filled fit to burst,

I puzzled a moment,

And I feared for the worst.

 

With an arch of his eyebrow,

And a twist of his head,

I knew in a moment,

There was nothing to dread.

 

With a whispered expletive,

He dropped his large load,

And inspected the contents,

With a look long and cold.

 

I stood, moving closer,

Though I did daren't speak,

He crooked out a finger,

And he bade me to peek.

 

There, on the floor,

There lay Christmas cheer,

I let out a small cry,

Why would he bring this here?

 

"My dear," he said softly,

As smooth as can be,

"I was horrid and nasty,

To all of you three.

 

"The truth is, I owe you,"

He choked out with a sniff,

"The least I can give you,

Are stockings and gifts.

 

"A miserable bastard,

I may always be,

But you deserve better;

A fine Christmas tree."

 

And, raising his wand,

Like a seasoned conductor,

He sized up the tree,

And I cried out in wonder,

 

Upon each bough, tinsel

Was expertly twined,

And glowing glass ornaments

Were fastened and shined,

 

Atop the fine tree,

A golden star shone,

I was taken by wonder,

At the charmwork alone.

 

With the softest of tugs,

I tugged on his sleeve,

He turned with a scowl,

Then looked quite relieved.

 

I'd gathered the stockings,

And with a smile and a blush,

I ran to the mantle, and

Hung them all in a rush.

 

He looked at me oddly,

As though shocked to the core,

"How unexpected," he said,

"Why are there four?"

 

I flushed, staying silent,

As he narrowed his eyes,

"Surely," he said, then,

"What you mean isn't wise."

 

I took a deep breath,

And I said, "Well, the only

Gift that I want, is

For you not to be lonely."

 

He reeled back in shock,

And he started to sneer,

His eyes, though, betrayed him,

As they started to tear.

 

He fell to his knees,

His head in his hands,

He made not a sound,

He made no demands.

 

With a deep breath and shiver,

I flew to his side,

My arms wrapped around him,

Held him close as he cried.

 

His shaking subsided,

His voice thick and hoarse.

"How could you do this?

I've done so much worse!"

 

"It's not what you've done,"

I gently replied.

"You've suffered and cheated,

And murdered and lied.

 

"I don't need your reasons,

You don't have to explain,

You've saved and saved our arses,

Again and again and again."

 

With each "again" I kissed his cheeks,

He stilled in my embrace,

And then at last, he looked at me,

Eyes shining in his face.

 

"Sometimes," I said, "You need

More than gifts and trees,

Sometimes it's not the stockings,

That fills your heart with ease.

 

"It's knowing that you're wanted,

And loved by those nearby,

And any love that's given,

Is a love that cannot die."

 

He nodded once, his shoulders slack,

Then raised his head again,

Our lips met in the firelight,

Again, again, again.

 

Later still, we stood again,

Then  _he_  hugged  _me_  instead,

My eyes implored for him to stay,

But he slowly shook his head.

 

"Soon," was all that he would say,

And, giving kisses two,

He turned and called out an address,

Then stepped into the floo.

 

And I heard him exclaim,

As he faded from sight,

"I pray you will remember me,

And this magic Christmas night!"


End file.
